


Begin Again

by AnotherNewWorld



Category: Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Gen, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 09:39:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherNewWorld/pseuds/AnotherNewWorld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He didn’t think I was very funny.” The words escape me before I can stop them, and the compassion of understanding lighting your eyes weakens something in me.</p>
<p>“But I do,” you say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Begin Again

**Author's Note:**

> I love the song "Begin Again" by Taylor Swift! This is simply me translating song lyrics into prose fiction. Written from first person, presumably Taylor's point of view, this piece explores the scenes presented in "Begin Again" and solidifies the lyrics into a narrative.
> 
> Essentially, I took a song and wrote it into a short story. Hope you enjoy it!

I inhale deeply, facing the mirror, turning to examine the reflection. Floral wedges are the shoe of choice. They’re stiff, a symptom of lying under a bed for months on end, unworn. He didn't like it when I wore high heels.

_But I do._

I close the door behind me, turning the key in the lock and double-checking the handle. Digging out headphones from the purse I carry, I insert them slowly. Without looking down, I press shuffle, and familiar chords, like a melody out of a dream, swells inside me. For once, I don’t skip it. He always said he didn’t get this song.

_But I do_.

I open the cafe door hesitantly, cringing as the small bell above me lets out a sharp ring. A heavily made up woman flashes a plastic-looking smile at me.

“Good morning! Table for one?”

“No,” I begin, sliding of the jacket necessitated by the chill morning air. Without meeting her eye, I continue, “I’m waiting for someone.” But before I can take a seat on the bench next to me, I spot the waving hand.

“Hey,” a voice half-shouts, “over here!” Continuing to wave vigorously with one hand, you use the other to gesture to the table set for two beside you.

The waitress understands. “Oh,” she says, “looks like you’re already set!” I nod in agreement and walk towards the table. He was always late.

There’s an awkward moment when both you and I try to pull out the chair nearest to me together. I consider ignoring the advance, but get the better of myself and let you pull the chair out and help me into it. No one has ever done that for me before, but by the looks of it, you don’t know the extent of your kindness.

_But I do._

We talk of many things over brunch. You tell me that you’ve never met a girl that has as many James Taylor records as you do, but I do.

You tell me stories and I respond in kind. I wonder if you’re wondering about the shyness coloring mine. I think, briefly, that you don’t know why I’m coming off this way, but I do.

We exit together, and, in unspoken agreement, you begin to walk with me down the street towards the apartment complex. There’s a silence, a pause the begs to be filled, and his name hovers on the verge of speech. But, suddenly, you start to talk about Christmas, and the movies that you watch with your family every single year. And I let him die from my lips as I listen. I want to talk about silly Christmas traditions. I don’t want to talk about the past.

You throw your head back with a child’s abandon, laughing fully and loudly. And I think how strange it is that you laugh so easily. “He didn’t think I was very funny.” The words escape me before I can stop them, and the compassion of understanding lighting you eyes weakens something in me.

“But I do,” you say.

When my lips open again, only a slight breath of air and the last eight months of my life leave me. Here there is no breaking, no burning, no endings. Only the brisk Wednesday morning air and the smell of the cafe behind us can enter me. His part of me is afraid of beginnings and the simple promises they hold. He doesn’t want this, to slip as easily from my memories as sand through fingers.

_But I do._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I know this isn't the typical fanfiction, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Any and all comments and kudos are appreciated! I would like to write more of this type of thing, if there are people who would read it.


End file.
